


Platanus

by fuladaris



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Well the first 3 chapters were posted on tumblr, the rest will be AO3 exclusive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuladaris/pseuds/fuladaris
Summary: In which an exiled prince falls asleep under a sycamore tree, and awakens next to a strange (and, he thinks, beautiful) man. It's funny, how the woods have a way of leaving us both on edge and at ease.
Relationships: Fleur-de-lis | Lysandre/Platane-hakase | Professor Augustine Sycamore
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a second chapter in the works, which I might write if people are interested! Thank you for reading!
> 
> I originally posted this chapter on tumblr! It’s the first of many pieces I want to move onto AO3 as well!

Sycamore trees were large, sheltering things, and it wasn’t unusual for travelers to fall asleep underneath them, even given the relative dangers of the roads between cities. But, of course, if one had a partner to _guard_ them, then sleeping underneath the trees could be _passably_ safe - which is why Lysandre decided to test his luck. With Soleil at his side - his pet, a large, male lion of a special breed known as Pyroar, a species reserved for those of royal lineage and known for its fierce tendency to protect their masters, a beloved companion who had run away with the fallen prince when he’d been cast out of his home - he saw no reason _not_ to take a break, especially given that there was still a lot of traveling to do.

And, besides, Soleil tended to err on the side of caution and attempt to bite even _friends_ if someone dared to approach while his master was sleeping, so why would he not trust the cat to keep him safe?

Color Lysandre surprised, then, when he wakes from his nap and sees the dark-haired stranger sitting down next to him, Soleil’s head in the stranger’s lap, the large cat purring away, as if it had been _that_ man and not Lysandre who had raised him from a kitten.

Admittedly, Lysandre is initially too struck by the stranger’s beauty to react: he is tall (not as tall as Lysandre himself, but still tall); lean; perfectly poised; the profile of his face of such a disarming handsomeness that Lysandre almost has to reach out and touch it, to ensure that this is not some painting come to life-

And then, all of a sudden, the stranger has turned to look at him, and the spell is broken.

“Who are you?!” Lysandre hisses, hand flying to the sword on his hip, even as warm, gray-blue eyes stare at him, forcing a stutter into his throat - and then he realizes he is unharmed, and that Soleil, staring at him with a bored expression, is so _uncharacteristically_ calm that Lysandre _almost_ believes that this stranger is just a kind animal lover.

“Who am I?” the dark-haired man asks. “Well...” He taps the tree, and then, seeing the furrow of the brow that crosses Lysandre’s face, he clarifies: “My name is Sycamore.”

“Sycamore?” Lysandre asks, and then he scoffs. “Tell me your _real_ name.”

Cue a good-natured smile from the ~~handsome~~ ~~disarming~~ ~~captivating~~ man. “Bold, you are. And what if that is my real name?”

“Your parents named you after a tree?”

“More accurately, they named me after my _father_ , who was named after my father’s father, and so on and so forth, etc., etc., etc., and some father from many _centuries_ ago was the one named after a tree. And? May I have your name?”

He dislikes that wording.

“I will not _give_ it to you, but I will _tell_ you that it is Lys,” the fallen prince says, finally, parroting language he’s heard all his life, from warnings about how those you meet in the woods might not be fully human; he uses, too, a nickname, for nicknames hold less power. 

(Nevertheless, he _is_ starting to lower his guard somewhat, if only because his Pyroar looks so damned content that it’s _impossible_ to stay so on edge himself.)

Sycamore, who is running his hands through Soleil’s mane ~~run them through my hair please you handsome disarming captivating man~~ , hums. “Poor wording on my part, I suppose. I’m not surprised you think I’m a fairy. Well, regardless, as much as I have often wondered what my name would be if it were not Sycamore, I think that even if I _was_ a fairy, I would not be interested in just taking another’s name. I want my _own_ name.”

“Well, if you are not a fairy, then surely you know you _can_ change your name. There are laws that allow it,” Lysandre says, cautiously.

“Oh, what a simple thing that would be,” Sycamore hums, and before Lysandre can question that, Sycamore rises, prompting a discontent mew from the dislodged Soleil. “Ah, my apologies, sweet thing, but I’m afraid I have to take my leave now.”

It takes Lysandre far too long to realize that _Soleil_ is the ‘sweet thing,’ not him, and he wonders if his cheeks are burning. “What were you even doing here?” he asks. “Did you just come over here to pet him?”

“And to check on an intruder. I live here, you see.” As he speaks, Sycamore gestures in some vague direction. “But! You and your friend appear to mean no harm, so I can forgive your trespassing.”

“Trespassing?” Lysandre frowns, rises, scans the trees, can’t tell if he sees the outline of a house or not, still isn’t convinced that this man is human. “You live all the way out here?”

“Indeed I do. Are you from a city?”

Lysandre hesitates, then: “I was.”

“...I see,” Sycamore hums. “Well, stay here as long as you wish, Lys. You’ll be safe, if this tree is the one you sleep under.”

“Why this tree?”

“Because it’s on my property, and I’ve decided I like you, and nothing in these woods can harm you if I like you. But - this is the safest tree, usually, since it’s right in the center.”

The wind blows in said tree, and Lysandre hesitates once more. “You - _are_ a fairy. Aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

“...I am to pay you back for your hospitality. Aren’t I?”

“It would be proper, but even fae can be generous for generosity’s sake.”

“...If I give you a name of your own, will that suffice?”

Sycamore - smiles. “You do not like the name Sycamore, either?”

“I do not believe it is your real name. It is too generic.” As soon as he says this, he panics. “I mean - no, that was rude-”

“No, no, it _is_ awfully generic. And you are correct, it is not my real name. You may choose something else to call me, though, if you want, for as I’m sure you know, ‘Lys,’ a nickname will not hold power over me.”

“I don’t _want_ to hold power over you. I do not think that would be wise.”

“And _that_ assertion _is_ wise, in and of itself. Very well, if you choose a name of your own to call me, I’ll consider the debt repaid.”

Lysandre is vaguely aware of an earthy, flowery smell in the air, and it’s intoxicating, and the words that fall from his lips come so naturally and easily that he isn’t sure he thought of them on his own, or if they were implanted there.

“I am freely, and with no restrictions or obligations attached, offering you the name Augustine.”

“Augustine?” The fairy - tree spirit - man - leans in, and Lysandre’s breath catches as those lips murmur by his ear, “I like that name.”

The wind blows again, and Lysandre is alone.


	2. Second Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start the new year with a new chapter, shall we? I hope everyone stays safe and well throughout 2021, and that you all have a happy new year!! We get a bit of Lysandre's backstory in this one and a peek at one of the mysteries of the forest, although of course there is still more information to come!
> 
> I also posted this chapter on tumblr!

Lysandre wakes with a start, looking about the forest wildly. Soleil is fast asleep at his side, as calm and peaceful as a kitten, and the trees are still - indeed, there appears to be nothing around that  _ should  _ have woken him, for if there was, his pet would  _ not  _ have been sleeping so soundly. He wonders if he’s just on edge, thanks to his near-constant traveling, thanks to how much he had to escape from, how much further he still had to go.  _ Yes,  _ he thinks,  _ nerves do often make a coward of a man. _

And yet, the fairy’s words ring in his head: “ _You’ll be safe, if this tree is the one you sleep under.” _

He doesn’t think Sycamore - Augustine? - would have said that if there  _ wasn’t  _ something to be kept safe  _ from_. This realization causes his eyes to narrow, his hand flying instinctively to his sword as he stares, stares,  _ stares  _ into the depths of the trees, their darkness unreadable and his safety thus unassured.

But, well -  _ hadn’t  _ it been assured? Was that not the deal they had made, that he would give Augustine a name in exchange for his protection? Why should he doubt the fairy’s words?

_Because, Lysandre, the fae are not to be trusted._

One of his servants had told him that - although he can’t quite remember which one it was. Certainly not Xerosic, since the voice in his head was a woman’s, but...Which of the others  _ was it _ ? He hadn’t been cast from his home that long ago, had he? Only a week, so how could he have already forgotten their voices? 

_Xerosic, Mable, Malva, Celosia, Aliana, Bryony_ \- he recites the names like a mantra, the names of the servants he had managed to send on ahead, the servants he was supposed to be meeting in Geosenge Town. He wonders, vaguely, why fate had kept him from going with them, knows, of course, that it is because he still had things to take care of at the castle, before he could escape.

(Exile was preferable to execution, and he was not a fallen prince for no reason - there is much he must hide, much he hopes he did not  _ forget  _ to hide, contingency plans he had to put in place, lest his hiding places be discovered...

But he will return to Lumiose City some day. Mark his words.)

The sound of a twig snapping breaks Lysandre out of those dark, brooding thoughts, and he shoots to his feet. The fact that Soleil has not woken is now disturbing rather than a comfort, and he stares into the thicket of trees,  _ desperate  _ to see what is out there, seeing nothing anyway.

A feeling of foreboding fills him, and his breath quickens. Something is wrong. Something is  _ out there _ , watching, waiting, observing, approaching slowly now, slowly, slowly...

The feel of a hand on his arm causes him to jump back, but the  _ tightening  _ of that grip prevents him from jumping  _ away  _ from the tree.

“Careful, Lys. It’s not safe to go out in the open, right now...”

Augustine stands at his side, his approach as quiet as it had been that afternoon, but he is not looking at the prince, not responding even as Lysandre asks “Wait, when did you-?”

No, he is looking out into the trees, too, eyes narrowed with a threatening anger - Lysandre senses that Augustine can see what he cannot, and instinctively, he draws closer to his savior, feels Augustine’s hand move from his arm to around his waist, the hold protective.

(Lysandre is not used to being held, would normally have pulled away from a touch like this - and yet, he does not. Perhaps it’s fear of what might happen to him if he does, perhaps it’s remnants of his earlier captivation, perhaps it’s both.)

~~ Probably, it’s both. ~~

The fairy is saying something, in a language Lysandre cannot understand, and yet, his mind reverberates with the feeling that Augustine - Sycamore - whatever his real name is - is saying:  _** “He’s mine, and you cannot have him.” ** _

The thought sends a thrill through him, and he  _ almost  _ nods, before he begins to consider what agreeing with the words ‘He’s mine’ might  _ mean _ , when dealing with fairies.

_ And besides... _ **_ Is  _ ** _ this part of the previous deal, or is this a second, extra case of protection? _

He doesn’t have time to ponder this further, for the tension has suddenly dissipated - whatever was out there, Augustine has scared it away. Ordered it away? Threatened, commanded, warned - whatever Augustine had done, it had worked, and Augustine relaxes, releasing Lysandre. 

“Well! I suppose it would do no good to tell you to go back to sleep and pretend that was a nightmare, yes?”

“...What was out there?” Lysandre whispers, hoarsely. “I mean - thank you. But - what- what was that?”

“...Do not worry about it. As I said, you are safe here if  _ I _ want you to be. And I  _ do  _ want you to be - although, of course, it might be best if you leave in the morning.”

“Y-Yes,” Lysandre agrees, clearing his throat. “I - Have a long way to go, anyway. To Geosenge. Have you ever been?” He doesn’t know if that question was silly or not.

Still, Augustine smiles. “I can potentially be  _ everywhere  _ sycamore trees can bloom, Lys, although Geosenge is a place I do not often get to. Still, at least try and rest under one of  _ them  _ at nights, won’t you? My influence does not  _ quite  _ extend outside of  _ this  _ forest, but - I can at least offer  _ some  _ form of protection, if you are under a sycamore tree.”

“...Thank you,” he says, quietly, mind churning with distrust - distrust that he fleetingly wishes wasn’t there. “And what do I owe you in return?”

“Nothing. You gave me a name, so I am giving you protection. That was our deal, was it not?”

“I - had assumed it was just for the night,” Lysandre stutters out, for he  _ had _ .

“It is for until you reach Geosenge,” Sycamore assures, with a tone implying that Lysandre’s assumption was correct, and that he’s made his decision on the spot - a tone Lysandre knows better than to question, for one does not question the fae’s generosity without consequence. “Now, get some rest, for your journey. You won’t be bothered any more tonight.”

“...Thank you, Augustine,” Lysandre says, finally, sitting back down (feeling a twinge of pride at the smile which twitches onto Sycamore’s lips at the sound of his new name).

And then: “Why don’t you come with me? To Geosenge?”

Augustine - who seemed to have faded into the tree, for a moment, although with a blink of Lysandre’s eyes, the illusion has passed - stares at him, and Lysandre repeats the question. 

“Oh? Are you worried you will need more help than what I offered?”

“No, I just -”  _ Want to know more about you. Want to trust you. Why do I want to trust you? _ “-You said you never go there, so - why not? Or do you need to stay here?”

“...No, I do not  _ need  _ to stay here, per se,” Augustine says, after a long pause, “nor can I be gone for too long. However...Well, I will decide. If I have not joined up with you by tomorrow night, assume I will not be tagging along - but, the sycamore trees will be safe for you, regardless of whether or not I am at your side in person.”

And once again, he is gone, with a gust of wind.

Lysandre tries to rest after that - but he is too wired, and instead, his thoughts churn. He knows he has always been a man to appreciate physical beauty. Indeed, he thinks that might have something to do with his invitation, might have something to do with  _ all  _ of this fascination that Augustine instills in him. 

What to do? Where to go from here?  _ And how will I feel if he does not come with me? _

_And, through all this_ , Lysandre realizes suddenly, unnerved at how unusual this behavior is, unsure if his new protector had anything to do with it,  _ Soleil remained asleep. _


	3. An Interlude Between Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! Sorry for the wait on this - but, here is chapter 3!
> 
> This is the last chapter which I'll be posting on tumblr (I had additionally not posted this one on tumblr, but since it's where a major plot development comes up, I decided it should go on tumblr as well. Plus, you know, rules of three in fairy tales!). The ones which follow it will not be posted on tumblr (other than a "New Fairy AU chapter is up!!" post) - that's right, Chapters 4 and on are going to be AO3 exclusive! The verse itself is still available on the blog, though; it's just easier to update the story in this one place as opposed to dual-posting it all the time.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I'm really very fond of this fic, and want to continue it, so I hope you all are liking it, too! I had a blast writing this chapter, personally, and I've already got some of Chapter 4 penned as well. Please let me know what you think!

Although Soleil sleeps like a baby, Lysandre spends the night half-awake and restless, tossing and turning, hand clutching the hilt of his sword even with Augustine's promises of safety ringing through his head. He doesn't like these woods, doesn't want to be here any longer than necessary. Now that the danger has passed, now that his mysterious, fascinating benefactor has returned to - wherever the hell it is he goes, perhaps he'd even gone into the tree itself - Lysandre had truly, truly begun to process the enormity of all that had happened.

Something had been stalking him through the woods, and whatever it was was dangerous enough that Augustine had felt the need to personally show up and deal with it, had felt the need to extend his offer of protection up until the point where Lysandre arrived in Geosenge Town, rather than just for that night. Had - had whatever it was been following him all along, this whole week? Or had this development been _recent_? Had Augustine's offer of protection merely been a show of friendly hospitality, as he'd said in the beginning? Had its proving necessary been a fortunate coincidence, rather than a premonition?

_And why hasn't Soleil stirred?_

Indeed, his pet had been remarkably calm _earlier_ , too, when Augustine had first shown up. Was he _that_ comfortable here, under Augustine's protection?

On the other hand - Lysandre knows he _ought_ to listen to Soleil's feelings on the matter. He'd learned, growing up, that felines and fairies were allied creatures, that some cats even held courts alongside fairies. But, was his Pyroar the same? Did Soleil and Sycamore perhaps know each other?

_No - I've raised Soleil from a kitten. The two of them being acquainted would be impossible. Still, this is all - too much -_

Sleep. He needs to sleep. Traveling tomorrow would be _torturous_ , if he did not sleep, and he could not afford to lose valuable time to exhaustion. And, besides - Augustine could only protect him under _every_ tree for as far as these woods extended. Once he'd left them, day travel could only continue for as long as he could still see sycamore trees, assuming Augustine did indeed choose _not_ to travel with him.

_But will his influence extend to other trees if he **does** come with me? Will the trees we sleep under cease to matter? He implied that it was only his namesake that he could guard or control, and yet - that was before I asked him to accompany me. **Does** he sleep, anyway? And **wi** **ll** he come with me? He said tomorrow night - that could be any time! Any time at all, from when the sun goes down to when it rises. Unless he means midnight, for then it will **not** be tomorrow night but instead the day **after** tomorrow's morning..._

With a groan, he passes his hand over his eyes. He wants to sleep, but these questions are hounding him, plaguing him, and he has half a mind to call out into the night, to ask if Augustine is still there, if he can give a straight answer - but the words will not come, and instead he just sits, watching and waiting and thinking, as the sun rises in the sky.

***

Elsewhere that night, within the depths of the forest, a creature - no, not just a creature, but a bird, a _large_ bird, the very image of death itself - stirs, growling. Sycamore stands before it, murmuring soft, placating words, even as its growls rise in volume, in anger - threatening notes directed at the fairy who had dared defy it. 

"It was nothing against you, sir. I like him, that's all, and I had promised him my protection. I would like to still promise him my protection."

"Could you not sense it?" the creature asks, his voice incomprehensible to those who were not like him - a being otherworldly, a being of the fae. "That man smelled of death. _Reeked_ of it. Or are you spending too much time with my other half? Have you lost your ability to sense danger, Platane?"

Augustine - Sycamore - _Platane -_ twitches, when he hears his **_true_ **name spoken, and a shudder passes through him. "I - Perhaps I do spend a lot of time working with the powers Lord Xerneas has granted me, but - but I have not forgotten that I am a child of yours as well, Lord Yveltal. I just - I do not think he is dangerous. I want to know more about him. That is all."

The silence which follows is deafening, and Platane wonders - not for the first time - if he's finally pushed Yveltal too far. He has half a mind to flee, to go back to his little tree, where that man is sleeping, to sleep next to him, maybe, where they are _both_ safe. Safe, in Platane's little patch of earth, his homestead, the one place in the forest which was truly **_his_**.

(He had not been entirely honest, when speaking with Lys, when he implied these _woods_ were his. No, he was merely a denizen - hardly an owner at all.)

"You've always been gentle, Platane," Yveltal rumbles, then, breaking him out of his train of thought, "and with a kind heart. I know it has served you well - but it has also served you poorly. Do not let your kindness become another of your weaknesses. I know a man of death when I see one, and that man _is_ one - whether you want him to be or not."

The bird reaches out, presses its beak against the fairy's chest. This time, Platane does not flinch, or shudder, or shy away, for he knows Yveltal, as threatening as he may seem, would not _truly_ wish to harm one of his children - even the problem children. _As I have often been._

"My child," Yveltal says, and Platane reaches up, petting the feathers on top of that great head, "I hope, for your own sake, that you will not regret your decision to interfere."

"I won't," Platane whispers, although a tiny part of him almost does.


	4. Third Meeting, First Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!! Chapter 4 is here - to make up for the wait between chapters 2 and 3 ;D I enjoy "Lysandre as unreliable narrator" very much, honestly, and parts of this were going to be in Chapter 3, but I didn't want to reveal too much in one shot.
> 
> Beginning with this chapter, I will no longer be posting the individual chapters of this fic on tumblr, other than to make brief "Fairy AU's been updated with chapter #!" posts. It's easier for me to post it in one place, rather than in two places simultaneously. 
> 
> Also! In addition to this fic, I have a number of other perfectworld things to post (many coming from my tumblr blog), so there's more for you to look forward to!!

_I should have slept_ , Lysandre thinks, bitterly, as he and Soleil trudge through the forest - a different forest, now, for he had, in spite of his exhaustion, taken Augustine's suggestion to leave the fae's woods as soon as morning came. From there, the hours had passed, and the sun had risen higher, higher, higher, only to fall, fall, fall once again. And, still, they had yet to find any other sycamore trees, had not covered _nearly_ as much ground as Lysandre _needed_ to, especially given how much time they had spent in Augustine's forest the day before, but, at this point -

At this point - 

_At this point, the sun is going to set, and Augustine is not here, and I am going to need to find shelter, whether it's with his protection or not._

A pang of disappointment flits through him, at the thought, and he finds himself looking behind him - just in case Augustine might be coming up the road, illuminated by the light of the setting sun, as pretty a picture as any that used to hang on the walls of the palace...

But, of course, he wasn’t there, and Lysandre should not have been surprised, for he could tell from just their previous two meetings alone that Augustine had a preference for appearing without a word, without notice. To travel along openly - yes, that would _not_ have been his way.

"We will keep walking for another two hours, or until we reach a sycamore tree - whichever comes first," Lysandre announces, then, Soleil looking up with a curious mew in response to the sudden declaration. "If we have not found one within those two hours, then we will have no choice but to make camp wherever we can. Between my sword and your powers, I am sure we can fight off anything that might attempt to harm us."

After all, Pyroar were not merely a special breed of lion - they had the ability to breathe fire, would protect their masters using not just the fury of their teeth and claws but with the fury of those _flames_ as well, and it was for _that_ reason that only members of the royal family were permitted to own them. It had been through luck and determination _alone_ that he'd managed to take Soleil with him, really, for as an exiled prince, a fallen prince, an outlaw, an enemy of the state, whatever it was his mother now wanted to call him, there was no denying that Soleil should have been removed from his care. 

Or - more likely - given the breed's loyalty - Soleil would have been put down alongside him.

But this was partially why he'd chosen Geosenge Town as his destination, this place far away and remote, a town at the outskirts of these dangerous and unpredictable woods. This was why he had created such catastrophe and fire as he'd left, had hidden away what he or his fleeing servants had not been able to take themselves, had cast _himself_ into exile to avoid the execution that was awaiting him as punishment for his crimes.

(Exile, or escape. Did the difference really matter, when he intended one day to return?)

He wonders, briefly, if he's been written off for dead, or if some of the state's soldiers had been chasing after him, if one of _them_ had been the entity he'd sensed last night, for not even the royal guard would have been foolish enough to anger a fairy, and Augustine’s entire being had denoted nothing if not possessive warning signs.

But, no. That presence facing them down had not seemed human, and he doubted that Augustine would have held him so protectively if they were dealing with a mere _human_ -

(The memory of that arm around his waist brings color to his cheeks, and he glances behind him _again_ , still hoping - unreasonably, perhaps - that Augustine will have decided to join him after all.)

Soleil chuffs, as if to say “This is no time to be getting lost in pointless flights of fancy, Lysandre,” and Lysandre shakes his head, eyes returning to the road. 

_I have a sword, and I have my Pyroar. I do not need to worry about - protection. I've made it this far, haven't I? One week of travel. Half the distance I need._

And yet - he does not think he could have fought off that beast, from the night before. Wonders, too, if his servants had even _made_ it to Geosenge. He'd expected to overtake them, at some point, being one person as opposed to a group of six - even if he was on foot and they were on horseback, even if they had a two day headstart, the only one he really trusted to be a capable leader was Malva (and, he supposed, perhaps Xerosic, too), so could they really have gotten their acts together?

~~Never _mind_ the fact that his being unable to secure a mount for _himself_ would make it easier for the royal guard to find him, if they had indeed _not_ written him off for dead. But, after a week, should they not have come, by now?-~~

"Keep it together," he growls under his breath. There was no point in wondering, no point in speculating - for how much sleep had those very same actions cost him the night before? "Focus on what lies ahead, Lysandre."

"And is that what Lys is short for?"

Lysandre spins around, hand flying to his sword, that same hand just as quickly falling back to his side when he realizes it's just Augustine - Augustine, looking tired and haggard and _beautiful_ , a welcome sight, a wonderful sight, a sight that now knows his real name, and his exuberance turns to stiff-backed fear.

Still - a tired smile crosses Augustine's lips, and he says, "Don't answer that, if you're worried about me knowing - but I’ve told you from the beginning that I have no need or use for your name.”

He reaches out, then, fingertips tracing softly over Lysandre’s wrist - a movement that causes Lysandre’s pulse to beat erratically.

“You know, Lys - you touch that sword an awful lot for someone who never seems to use it. Perhaps I'm fortunate that you aren't quicker on the draw."

”I-I just expected it to be you, that’s all,” Lysandre stutters out, mesmerized by the fairy’s light touch. “I- I’d hate to harm someone undeserving, anyway-”

”How honorable,” Augustine murmurs, and he draws his hand away - lips tugging into an amused smile at the disappointed frown that flits, however briefly, across Lysandre’s face.

”I apologize that I did not join with you sooner. I had to make sure things would be okay back home, in my absence. Have you stuck to the main road the whole time?”

“Yes. Quicker travel, that way.” Not _safer_ travel, really, but he’d lost enough time, and was too exhausted to try and navigate through untamed woods in favor of dirt paths. “Why?”

”Because there’s a grove of sycamore trees a ways back, but they’re off the trail. I can take you to a lone tree further ahead, though, if you don’t want to backtrack.”

“And is that tree off-road, too? Goodness, I wonder how many I’ve missed...” Indeed, a pit fills his stomach, as he considers how he might have pressed on into danger for two more hours, blissfully ignorant of safety just up ahead or just behind, if only he’d deviated from his route.

He needed to sleep tonight, lest his mind continue to fog.

“There haven’t been too many, really,” Augustine assures, as if aware of Lysandre’s mental fog, “and it is understandable, that you’d miss the few there were, traveling as you are. But! That is why I am here, yes?”

”Yes...”

“Come. Let us bring you to a place to rest.”

As they walk, Augustine scritches behind Soleil’s ears, smiles as the big cat purrs in gratitude, occasionally flashes a dazzling smile in Lysandre’s direction. Lysandre, in turn, fights the urge to offer his arm, still unconvinced of whether or not the effect Augustine has on him is due to simply being in the presence of a fairy, or because of Augustine himself.

(He thinks it is perhaps the latter, for Augustine - who seems to be as equally in need of rest as Lysandre himself is - somehow manages to wear even _exhaustion_ in a way that’s beautiful.)

Augustine beckons for Lysandre to follow him off the main path, and they move through the trees, Soleil bounding ahead as if he knows the way, too, Augustine hanging back to guide Lysandre.

”May I ask what it is you will do, when you get to Geosenge Town?”

“I’m meeting some friends there,” Lysandre replies, carefully. “And we will travel together from there.”

”It must be difficult, to travel so much. You said you were from a city, yes? But you don’t live there anymore - am I correct?”

”...You are,” he admits. “But I- I cannot speak of why, right now.”

”Oh? That’s fine. You don’t have to- Ah! Look! Your friend has found the sycamore tree. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Indeed, the tree is sprawling and vibrant, majestic and beautiful, standing out amongst the trees which surround it, and Lysandre wonders how many more of these magnificent specimens he must have missed.

”No wonder they call you Sycamore,” he murmurs, mesmerized. “That tree is almost as lovely as you.”

He hadn’t quite meant to say that, but he still takes the surprised half-laugh (that Augustine is unsuccessfully trying to disguise as a cough) as a personal victory.


	5. First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s 4am and I can’t sleep, so - I decided to update this, since it was on my list for the next couple of days anyway! Sorry for the wait and thank you for reading!!

_Fire. Screaming. The acrid scent of smoke, the blistering sensation of heat, moisture and air sucked away from him-_

_(Away from the trees-)_

_Platane whimpers, writhes, feels the agony of every scorched leaf as if it is his own skin burning, stands frozen in place as if he, too, is rooted in the earth, wants to disintegrate into char and ash but knows he cannot, for to do so would be to forsake the very forest he is sworn to protect.  
_

_Except, how **can** he protect it, when fire is **his** enemy, too? How can he ever hope to save what is most dear and precious to him, when even saving **himself** is an impossibility?_

_Lord Yveltal, save me. Lord Xerneas, save me. Please, save me. Save me, save me, save me._

_The forest shrieks around him, birds and mammals and insects and even fish in the scattered lakes, even the very plants themselves, every last bit of life begging to be saved, to be spared this fate, to be rescued from pain and agony._

_And then - footsteps, behind him, and he can finally move, turning around, hoping to see salvation, seeing **Lysandre** instead, even if the sight of him is almost a different **kind** of salvation-_

_He wheezes, the smoke dizzying him, and he, poor, pitiable, useless fae that he is, finally gives in to the suffocating effects, falls to his knees. Lysandre, though, stands over him, framed in fire, and Platane reaches up to him, as if in prayer-_

_“Will you help me?” he whispers, reverently._

_“I don’t know,” Lysandre says, in Yveltal’s voice. “Will you regret your decision to interfere?”_

***

Augustine wakes with a start, Lysandre leaning over him with a look of concern. He’s sitting close by him, almost as if he’d been watching Augustine instead of their surroundings; Soleil, meanwhile, is fast asleep on Lysandre’s other side.

“You called out in your sleep,” Lysandre is saying, one hand reaching out to rub soothing, circular motions into the fairy’s back. “Are you alright?”

”I- yes, I’m- Just a nightmare,” Augustine says, hoarsely. How strange, that he can still feel smoke in his lungs, but he’d always been a vivid dreamer, anyway, had he not? “I- I think I shall take watch, now. I do not foresee myself getting much more sleep tonight.”

”...Must have been a bad one, then,” Lysandre observes, after studying the other man for a long moment, and he withdraws his hand. “Did you have them last night, too?”

(Indeed, even with Augustine’s offer of protection, Lysandre had offered to guard them himself for a little while, finally drawing attention to the exhaustion that had been evident on the fairy’s face since they’d first joined up on the road.

”You, watch all night? But you look as if you have not slept, Augustine.”

”And you look much the same, Lys.”

”Ah, but you seem like too considerate a man to wake someone, if you think they’re as tired as you.” Lysandre had grinned, then, teasingly. “I’m afraid I partake in no such niceties.”

”And yet you’re kind enough to forego rest for my sake,” Augustine had replied. “Or do you intend to wake me when you’re plumb exhausted and then sleep the rest of the night away, knowing _I_ won’t wake _you_?”

“Would you consider that an abuse of your generosity?”

”No, not quite. I’d consider it very practical of you.”

”Ah, then yes, that is exactly what I intend to do.”)

Augustine shakes his head, clearing away the memory. “No, I did not have any last night, I just- I’m afraid I had some- business, and-“

”Get some more rest,” Lysandre interrupts, gently, clearly far more considerate of a travel companion than he’d made himself out to be. “Worse comes to worse, I’ll wake Soleil and have him guard us both. He’s gotten quite lazy these past couple of days, anyway, since he met you. I’ll have to put him to work.”

Augustine laughs a little bit at that, but even as he leans back against the trunk and closes his eyes once more, he feels it - tension, burning fire. Is something wrong, back home? He’s only been gone a day, and there are others to watch in his place- so how-

“You’re breathing quickly,” Lysandre says. “I had no idea fairies could be so concerned over nightmares. It really _must_ be a bad one.”

“I’m just a little...uneasy,” Augustine says, with a sigh. “I truly don’t - leave home, very often. So perhaps I’m - jumpy.”

This is half-true. He really _doesn’t_ leave home often, but that alone is not the cause of his jumpiness. He wonders, briefly, if he ought to tell Lysandre about Yveltal’s warning, has a sinking feeling that doing so would be a decision he’d come to regret - _but who would make me regret it, Lysandre or Yveltal_ -

Before he can make sense of that thought, before Lysandre can even respond, the flapping of wings fills the air, and both men’s heads whip up, Sycamore with a bit more fear on his face, before he realizes that the sound is too small to have come from Yveltal.

”Why, that’s Malva’s Talonflame!” Lysandre says, suddenly, and he holds out his arm for the special breed of falcon - the species every bit as fiery as Pyroar, and only slightly less regal, its ownership privileges extended to those close to in addition to within the royal family.

”Malva? And who is Malva?”

“One of the friends I’m meeting in Geosenge,” Lysandre says, gravely, untying and beginning to read a note that had been attached to the bird’s foot, the bird herself hopping over to Augustine and nuzzling him, every bit as taken with the fairy as Soleil had been.

Augustine smiles at this, pets her beak, coos out a greeting - but her contentment is short-lived, for the bird begins trembling, soon enough, and presses close to his neck as if to hide. _She’s panting, too - as much as a bird can pant,_ and Augustine mumbles, “Lys, I think she’s been flying a long time-“

And Lysandre _swears_ , hands tightening around the page he holds.

”I should have slept,” he growls, “because it seems there’s been a change of plans, and we’ll have to head out sooner rather than later. My friends - they’ve run into some trouble.”


End file.
